Caligula sat at the center of the wide hortus, blank-faced.
Guests arrived, one after another. He felt uncomfortable.
They brought gifts.
A miniature bronze dagger, a carved wooden horse, scrolls tied with ribbon, and delicacies from all over the Roman Empire.
He nodded. Thanked them.
Forgot their presence the moment they turned away.
Blurry. Black and white.
He couldn't even tell the color of their robes.
But truly—he was relieved.
The sun was finally setting.
'I can finally get out of here...' Caligula sighed.
The orange glow nearly gone—though to him, it was nothing but a very bright, stabbing white that hurt his eyes.
He could finally stop squinting now. Sighing again, he looked around.
Still hazy. Still gray.
'I'm tired of it...' he thought.
Caligula felt like a statue on his own birthday.
His detailed wooden chair, although comfortable, made him feel uneasy inside.
Guests greeted him and then passed by. Their voices came too softly.
He could feel them staring at him.
Maybe smiling too—he couldn't tell.
He could sense their feelings if it were only one or two people.
But there are too many. That all auras feel the same.
The summer heat clung to him like wool.
He could feel the perspiration forming on the bridge of his nose.
Everything was monochrome and spinning.
He wanted to get up.
To run.
To find Lepidus—
The thought of Lepidus... Caligula closed his eyes and tried to remember.
Amidst the blurry faces of the crowd and the monochromatic surrounding in the Circus Maximus days before today...
Caligula still can't forget how Lepidus's face suddenly became crystal clear, his complexion a vivid, vibrant color.
He wasn't even sure if it had happened—or how...
It had been so brief. So very brief.
It felt like a thief had come and gone.
He remembered panicking—drowning in the noise, the bodies, the roar of the indistinct faces of people watching the munera.
Then Lepidus had pulled him free.
And just like that, the panic vanished.
As if that spiraling, breathless fear had been a lie.
Or maybe it hadn't gone at all. Maybe his mind invented the calm.
He didn't know.
The last thing he remembered—somehow, a face had appeared in front of him.
Not blurry.
Real.
Green, worried, expressive eyes that looked straight through him.
A straight nose. Long lashes. Lips—thin, pink-orange, closed with restraint.
A sharp, symmetrical jawline.
And a violet hand print blooming across one side of that face.
It shocked him.
He hadn't even realized he'd reached out—his hands already clasping both of Lepidus's forearms.
He could not believe it!
'I see you!' he wanted to yell. But couldn't. Afraid that if he spoke, everything would be undone.
Was it real?
Or just a mirage?
Then the wave of people pulling them apart.
His grip on Lepidus slipping.
And when he looked up—
Another hand on him.
Asprenas.
He looked at Asprenas's face—blurry again.
Black and white. Back to his usual reality.
The magical moment was gone.
And now—
Now he wanted to see Lepidus again. To know if it had been real.
To be sure.
But he didn't know where to look for him.
Didn't know where Lepidus lived.
Caligula opened his eyes and bit his lip. His only chance was his birthday.
He invited him to come. Would he come?
His thoughts were suddenly interrupted by loud laughter—drunken, rolling, unmistakable.
His adoptive grandfather's family.
Drusus the Younger. The next ruling emperor.
Even in the blur, Caligula could tell it was him—by the way his shoulders moved, the tilt of his head thrown back.
The arrogant aura.
Right, Caligula thought. 'He says I'm cursed.'
Maybe if he saw Lepidus again, he'd find out if it was true. 'Am I really cursed?'
And why?
Why was his vision suddenly cleared that time?
Why was Lepidus the only face he could see clearly?
Why not Asprenas?
Why not anyone else?
Why? Why? Why?
But Lepidus hadn't come.
The party had dragged on since morning.
Still—no Lepidus.
Not even a shadow.
Was he shy?
Embarrassed?
Caligula scanned the hortus again.
So many people.
All strangers, really.
People who didn't care. Who judged. Who whispered behind fans, drank wine, and gossiped about him and his family.
But the one person he wanted to see—
Nowhere.
He sighed. Took a deep breath.
And what of Lepidus?
They'd only just met.
But it felt like he'd known him forever.
Did Lepidus care? Or was it just curiosity?
He'd been watching for years, hadn't he? A shadow on the edge of Caligula's life.
Was he just interested in me—as a person? A friend?
Or… something more?
'Tu es meum Deus..' He remembered the whisper of Lepidus in the Roman forum.
Ridiculous.
They were both boys.
They were of the same gender.
But still—
He couldn't shake it.
"Where are you?" Caligula whispered.
No answer.
Just laughter.
He glanced toward the colonnade, where a group of noble children were playing—loud, careless, flinging their hands in the air with exaggerated drama.
Asprenas was among them.
His toga crisp. His voice loud.
His movements sure.
Earlier, he and a few classmates from that time at the Circus Maximus had come and passed by.
Asprenas had said, "Happy birthday." Caligula hadn't even known what expression he wore when he said it.
Before leaving and joining his waiting friends, Asprenas leaned in and whispered, "We need to talk later."
But Caligula barely heard him.
His eyes were still on the entrance.
Then a sharp voice cut through the air:
"You've been fidgeting. Are you a worm? Stop looking around."
Agrippina.
Sharp as ever.
He didn't look at her.
Instead, he sat up straighter, spine stiff, face blank.
"Yes, Mother," he murmured, obedient and small.
He stealthily glanced at his towering mother.
Almost craned his neck to see. Blurry. Still blurry.
Her hands moved—quick, precise—adjusting the folds of his little purple toga, smoothing the creases with practiced fingers.
Like she always did when he was a small child.
When everything lay flat, she let out a quiet, satisfied 'hm'.
"Remember," she murmured, low and cold. "You have to look like every bit of your blood."
"Yes, Mother," he repeated—like a parrot. Like a doll wound too tightly.
But inside, all he wanted—
Was for Lepidus to appear.
'Please', he thought. 'Please come!'
***************************
Agrippina watched him.
The fidgeting had stopped. That blank face. That rigid posture.
Too calm for a child. Too still.
'He's growing up like his father', she thought bitterly.
The resemblance hit her sometimes without warning—especially in the eyes.
And every time, the old wound flared.
It had been years.
Years.
But the memory of her husband—his voice, his smile, his eyes—still clawed at her ribs.
She didn't let herself feel it anymore.
Her heart had turned to stone.
With one last press to her son's fabric, she stepped back.
A quiet slosh of liquid echoed in the small vial hidden in the folds of her belt.
She didn't flinch. Her hand never moved.
She turned her back on Caligula and swept toward the heart of the party.
She looked at Livia.
And her precious grandson.
Her eyes narrowed.
There they sat—like royalty beneath the pergola, as if they owned the entire place.
'You won't leave here alive', Agrippina thought, eyes fixed on Livia's smile.
'That's a promise.'
***************************
Antonia stepped into the courtyard's center, and the party hushed.
She was small, and older than before, but her presence demanded attention.
She smiled. Looked around. When she saw that every eye was on her…
She spoke. Her voice cool. Commanding.
Like a royal.
"Today, we gather to celebrate my grandson's twelfth birthday. Thank you all for coming."
She lifted a golden goblet.
Female slaves moved quickly, offering wine and flatbread to every guest.
Caligula received a goblet of his own. A golden goblet too.
It smelled sweet. Too sweet. A passum.
Antonia raised her arm higher.
"To my grandson. May you live long."
The crowd echoed…
"Salus!"
Goblets lifted. Bread raised.
Then—
"Pft—"
A strange sputter.
Heads turned.
Drusus the Younger stood beneath a fig tree, swaying, wine-flushed and triumphant.
A silver goblet of wine in his hands.
His grin stretched wide.
His eyes—glassy, unfocused.
Drunk.
"Will the gods even bother with that?"
***************************
The intoxicated Drusus, son of Tiberius.
The next emperor.
He couldn't wait to slip away from this childish celebration.
He spotted a familiar face.
'She works here now?'
He smiled, salivating. His member suddenly hardening beneath his fine purple tunic.
'That whore…'
She had the most plump breasts he knew…
He barely heard Antonia's toast—only the words, "May you live long."
His smile grew. 'Pft…'
'Will the gods even bother with that?' he thought—and then realized he'd said it aloud.
Antonia's arm remained raised.
Guests froze.
Watching him.
Drusus lifted his own goblet.
"He's cursed, isn't he?" he decided to continue. "Better to ask the gods to heal him than bless him."
A few guests laughed nervously.
He liked that too. He winked at Caligula arrogantly.
Then he threw his head back and drank the wine. 'Hah!'
Drained his goblet in one smooth swallow.
He licked his lips. Even their unease felt like power in his mouth.
He stepped forward, unsteady, and knelt beside the boy.
He kissed Caligula's forehead, ceremonious.
"To twelve years of divine promise," But the way he said it, was full of sarcasm as he whispered, handing the boy his now empty goblet.
***************************
Agrippina's knuckles turned white.
Antonia's jaw locked. Her arm remained raised.
Livia laughed behind her hand.
Livilla looked ready to faint.
Caligula stared at the silver goblet that Drusus gave him.
The scent—honey, poppy, and something darker. Metallic.
Now he held two goblets.
Drusus took three steps back.
Paused.
Swayed.
Opened his mouth—
And thick black liquid spilled out.
The silver goblet dropped from Caligula's hand.
Drusus looked down at the mess on his tunic, confused.
He touched it.
Looked at Antonia.
At Agrippina.
At Caligula.
And collapsed.
A thud.
The sound of flesh on stone.
A silence so deep it felt holy.
Then—
Livilla screamed.
It cracked the courtyard in half.
Guests froze, some still holding their cups and goblets.
Drusus lay still.
The stain around his mouth glistened black.
***************************
Antonia didn't move.
Agrippina's eyes went from Drusus to Livia. Watching her reactions.
Livia looked at horror.
A senator's wife dropped her goblet and fled.
Then came the shouting.
A female slave sobbed in victory.
A child cried.
The party unraveled in chaos.
Caligula didn't move.
He sat perfectly still.
His own golden goblet still in his hands.
While Drusus's silver goblet rolled toward his body.
His eyes trailed it until it stopped.
He looked at the lying body.
Then a sweet-smelling wine assaulted his nose. His own wine.
Then at the sky.
'The sun had gone down,' he thought.
***************************
INDEX:
Passum- a sweet wine made from partially dried grapes, which concentrated their sugars, resulting in a very sweet and often syrupy wine